I want to say sorry. Only in these last few awful months have we realised that Mum was ill and life should not have been this way. We were young when she started the indoctrination. My sister and I found it fun; a girly gossip about your family. We bonded through our dislike of your relatives; Mum always keen to tell us some new treat of information that would be layered on our already warped picture of our aunt, your only sibling, and her children.
We lived far away and had no real experience of them. Mum was keen to paint their lives: every detail and decision used by her to show us how wrong they were, that their values were not ours. We started seeing them as a group, never allowed to know them as individuals.
When we were growing up, it was easier for you not to see it. You went along with Mum's plans in exchange for a painless life, not noticing how little contact you had with your family. The times we did see our cousins, our minds were primed only to see the differences, my sister and I picking up each new morsel of shocking behaviour and bringing it back to her like a gift.
Mum wanted you to sever your family ties; not to see your own sister, your nephews. We closed ranks. If only you knew how much hate your wife had and how she was passing that hate on to us.
When your sister died too young, Mum got what she wanted. No more visits. Our cousins almost adults, no more strained family reunions. It was then that she started on you. It was the small things at first; a night out when you had a little too much to drink, an awayday where you bought the wrong tickets at the train station. All compiled in Mum's head, then passed on to my sister and me as clear evidence of your uselessness. She started not going out with you, blaming you for causing her to live like a hermit.
When you retired and started to do all the things you wanted to, she stepped up the campaign. Your cookery lessons were giggled over. Imagine a 65-year-old wanting to learn how to cook! You rekindled a passion for Spanish, but she would not let you carry on, convincing you that it was stupid and pointless. I saw you trying so hard to make her happy, only to be hurt and confused by her constant criticism and icy condemnation.
Mum's breakdown at Christmas caused us to start painfully talking to each other. You were unused to, and unsure of, opening up to your grown-up daughters, initially hesitant to lay blame, reticent about telling us of how sometimes you had feared getting up in the morning in case you did something wrong. A book placed on the wrong shelf, a pan left to bubble over for a second would spell the end of your day, cursed by Mum's disapproval.
And now we know that Mum's mind is ill, and her treatment has begun, we need also to reinstate your life. It took us all so long to see that she had an illness. Dad, I need to you find your love of life again, to play music and sing out loud, to discover new passions and enjoy long forgotten ones, or even just to let the pan boil over. Lots of love, Anna
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